Foolish Girl
by Sifter401
Summary: Allison's naive, but Cait's thankful she's too stupid to know what's good for her. An evening shared by Cait and the F!SS.


**[** I'm posting this separate from my other collective works involving Cait because of how different it reads. Hope y'all enjoy it! **]**

 **ooooo**

Allison's not been in the Commonwealth long. Can't have been.

Bullet holes intersect a crosshatch of scars between her shoulder blades in a gruesome game of tic-tac-toe, some stale, but most are fresh and angry, like they're recently-learned lessons. She's muscular in a sheltered, three-meals-a-day way, rattles off her 'please's and 'thank you's like anyone's ever given a damn about what's polite. She lets a loveless, burned-out pit fighter kiss her deep in a junkie's distant fever dream on the edge of Hell.

But people are imperfect creatures, Cait's browning track marks scream. They abuse, lie, break promises, and Allison has done none of this.

Allison is only truly foolish when she kisses Cait back.

 **ooooo**

Allison's hands glow against Cait's cold cheeks, callouses purring along her skin as she cups Cait's face. Diamond City is frigid at midnight, wisps of passersby trawling the streets, but Allison's eyes are smoky and alive behind twisted threads of deep, deep maroon. Cait is careful to brush them aside, as if each incidental touch of her brutish brawler's fingers to a face so sharp and perfect would shatter the moment like a mirror and Cait would be left alone, staring once more at her broken reflection.

If her eyes are wood fires, her lips are nuclear. The razorblade chill of winter dulls to a cool, Saturday evening when Allison kisses her open-mouthed, tongue wandering the crease of her lips like a drunk looking for home. Slips inside, finds a fizzling hearth and a fretful lover that lavishes affection.

Allison steps closer and the world is forgotten, the leering glares from the night watch and the abominable cold disappear from existence, when Allison's warmth fits into her grooves like a jigsaw piece. A sturdy arm encircles Cait's lower back, and the hand caressing her freckles smooths around to the nape of her neck. Cait tilts her head, let's Allison's tongue rile her worse than needles ever could, and cradles her cold-nipped face like a zealot nurtures his prayers.

The heating system Allison's jury-rigged from salvaged scraps greets them with a tinny roar and a blast of stuffy air inside the too-big apartment. The lights drone yellow and dim, chattering as they sway in the stowaway breeze, and the walls rumble with rumors as the door slams.

Allison falls apart faster than a dead man's lie when she has Cait alone, teethes along her jaw vaunting old fractures like fine China and kisses each one, validates her pain. Lips butterfly little shivers up and down Cait's flesh, flits through her veins and pools down low. A ragged tongue swipes a warpath through the hollows and dips of her neck, and Cait grinds, moans on the bulge the strap-on leaves in Allison's pants, shoves a desperate hand up Allison's shirt and feels her neon-stark heartbeat.

It's a natural transition from the floor to hoisted in Allison's arms, and Cait knows she's the only thing Allison carries closer than her rifle. The bed awaits at the opposite end of the apartment, through a bottleneck and around a corner, and Cait silently counts the strides by the bob of Allison's shoulders, smells the oil she uses to clean her guns and the polish with which she shines her Atom Cats jacket.

Allison descends to the bed with Cait clinging to her front, and Cait clacks teeth when she kisses her. Allison's sheer weight crushes her, wrings the breath from her body and dances it on marionette strings across her eyelids, white polka dots and numbing snowflakes, and she hooks ankles around Allison's waist when she moves anywhere but closer.

"Baby," Allison smothers promises into Cait's throat, "wanna eat you out so bad, baby. Can I do that?"

Her voice croons a low baritone, always sounds dependable and sage in a way that manifests as darkly inquisitive, but when she speaks to Cait, she sounds like untethered instinct and want.

"Cait…"

It's all Cait can ask for, to hear her name revered by jazz-and-sax vocals, so she relinquishes her death grip and receives bouquets of violet thank-you's all down her neck. Lips simmer along her collarbone while Allison wrestles with the buttons of her corset, gets too impatient halfway finished so she frees Cait's tits with a yank and wraps her lips around a stiff nipple. Cait curses, but the words stutter when teeth tug and tongue rasps.

A hand fumbles with her pants and the waistband slackens. Allison sloughs off Cait and takes up a kneel of worship on the floor, discards Cait's boots and trousers while goosebumps sprout around her saliva-slick breasts. She summons Cait's hips to the edge of the mattress and Cait obeys, props herself up with one hand and entrenches the other in that pretty head of hair.

Allison's mouth is hotter than freshly-spent brass and smoother than centuries-old whiskey, and maybe Cait's had more technically skilled, but Allison eats her with a passion that zings like Nuka Quantum, burns white like sparklers in her loins and flip-flops her heart like she's gripping livewire. Strokes push slow and heavy, not how Cait ever thought she'd stand to have it, but Allison, tender as sunlight and honest to a fault, makes it bearable. Makes it more than that: makes it good.

Gemstones of jade simper up at Cait, all glittery and keen, and Cait wants to pluck them and keep them in her lockbox, save them for a rainy day. Two fingers strong from squeezing triggers slip inside and play hopscotch on her g-spot, and Cait's eyelids flicker Geiger-quick as Allison's tongue rolls over her clit with the crackling tenacity of a radstorm.

She comes, and it's a firm, gentle thing. Drops her to an elbow, pours moans from her throat, makes her stomach warm like five shots of bourbon and her head dizzy like ten. Her eyes shut tight, but she knows Allison is watching. Still lapping at her pussy.

"Christ," Cait mumbles on a mutinous breath.

Allison's eyes giggle as she wipes her chin. She stands and strips with military efficiency, peels cloth from her sinews of muscle sown with the kind of shapely robustness found in other preserved pre-war relics. Cait could chip a tooth on her abs.

The bedframe titters like Cait's ribcage, high-pitched and staccato, when Allison climbs aboard and maneuvers Cait to lie lengthwise on the mattress with frighteningly-arousing ease. Allison leans forward over her, intentions poised on her parted lips, and Cait meets her halfway, takes her tongue and a handful of hair and fights to keep them like well-earned caps.

But Allison is worth more to her than caps. Snickers more sonorously, puts a wider smile on Cait's face. She surrenders, and Allison kisses her to the mattress, kisses down her body and rises like the frizzy-haired dawn between her legs, sitting tall.

"Fuck me," Cait says with a cotton-dry mouth, hips restless and searching, "fuck me, fuck, _me_ …"

A palm presses just above Cait's overgrown pubic hair, holds her hips steady while the other hand escorts the strap-on. The head parts her and it's the dollop of cream gloating on a perfectly preserved piece of pie, the first muzzle flash of sweetness, the promise of joy. And then Allison moves until hips bump hips and it's the rest of the damn pie: a heartrush of sugar, rosy and moist, fills Cait up so full. Cait wriggles, hits her g-spot inadvertently and strangles a cry.

Allison grins.

"Shut up," but with cherry cheeks, it's like throwing paper balls: no impact.

Allison wriggles and she's much better at it, knows how to find the angle and capitalize like the boxer she is. Got the hips of one, at least, rocks in and up and sometimes down, stirs Cait's guts around and winds her to heaving gasps. She's sticky and hopeless sooner than she wants to be, throat ticklish and voice shot; she grips the flannel over her head, almost tears it but it keeps her from falling.

"Your lips are so pretty, moaning like that for me," Allison speaks, and she's quiet but her voice is silk draped on Cait's skin.

A thumb kisses her lips, enters her mouth, and it's not as good in the moment as the strap-on but it's a more permanent type of pleasure. That of being wanted- Cait knows she's attractive in the spicy fuck-her-and-leave-her flavor of lust, but Allison makes her feel desirable, like a relationship with Cait wouldn't end in scars and a sour aftertaste. Maybe this one eventually will, but right now, it tastes like pennies and honeyed kudos, a bitter sampling of herself cocktailed with savory reliability.

The thumb mangles her moans, but Allison's sharp-cut jade obsesses with the broken English that drools down her chin. Cait's a fucking dictionary when Allison reaches between and rubs her clit, conjugating sentences like a modern-day Henry David Thoreau- not quite to that caliber, but Cait's never seen Allison breathless reading nineteenth-century philosophy.

"Fuck, baby. Bet it'd feel wonderful, being inside you," her voice scathes, flushes Psycho-hot shudders through Cait's thighs, and Allison with a real, functioning cock isn't so hard to imagine when she lives in her strap-on, "bet it'd feel incredible."

It sneaks up on her, hits her from behind. She erupts into verse, gasps and blistering curses thick and raw with shivery accent, throbbing confessions gushing arterial. She squirms, a tabby cat splayed in the morning sun, toes curling with yawns, spine arched and tingling. The neighbors are already scribbling their noise complaints onto old newspaper strips, they'll have a collage taped to their front door by the morning and she and Allison will laugh at them over breakfast.

Her treasure kisses her before she's done coming, and it doesn't tang metallic like gold; it's salty broth and young sex, charred flecks from standing too close to Cait's fiery bravado. Because all Cait's ever done is burn, and Allison's too stubborn to back away from the flames.

The night drawls beyond the threshold of their slice of heaven, stars quivering and serenading like twanging guitar strings, silver moon picking across the sky. Water trickles through pipes and drips percussion, nosy radiators gossip steam, and Allison sings along to midnight's tune. Almost can't hear it through her ringing ears.

"You've got such a lovely voice, darlin'," Cait croaks, fingertips jumping Allison's vertebrae like lily pads.

"Hmmm," she says to Cait's neck.

"D'love to hear you moan me name." The strap-on is still inside her, gives Cait the shakes when Allison twitches.

"Mm," Allison says, "Sounds like you need a glass of water first."

"I'll drink your pussy and be fine, I reckon."

Allison's smile is a spark to gasoline, a bullet fired into a fusion core: ignites and explodes, almost too bright to look at directly. And the kiss is so much worse. "You'll need a glass, either way."

When Allison returns from the kitchen, Cait is already lost to dreams.

 **ooooo**

 **[** I've got other unfinished projects to resolve, but I'm honestly too worn down to continue them at this point. Doesn't feel worth the effort.

I'll get back to them eventually. Hope I see you around! **]**


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